


Let me fix it (Now let me fix you)

by Sharlown



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Shadow people, Why do my drabbles always get away from me, but an optomistic ending?, except not really, oh god that sounds even worse, sort of angst?, this wasn't suppose to be more than a few paragraphs, well more like slow decay, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharlown/pseuds/Sharlown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The figure was always there. In school, a glance out the window would find eyes locking on the familiar skull mask between pines. At home, in the smallest of shadows on the ground, the shine of polished black shoes. In his dreams, the ghostly icy fingers sliding to his wrist, his pulse slowing to a bare whisper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me fix it (Now let me fix you)

**Author's Note:**

> This is really not ok, but I wrote this at four in the morning. Also! First fic on AO3. So yeah. Fun times!
> 
> I don't even...
> 
> This is dedicated to my wonderful friend and cohort Cara, who fluffs my ego and sinks me further into the depths of obsession with Teen Wolf. I blame this all indirectly on her.

The heaving in his chest was the first sign. No air entering his begging lungs, mouth open and willing and yet unable to find relief. He could feel the panic, the icy grip of something completely wrong and painful. Skewering each and every one of his blood cells, scratching his veins like a key against a car.

Darkness was the next. He awoke, alone in his room with a scream clawing up his throat. He quickly bit his hand, stifling the sobbing noise as to not awaken his father. He knew. He knew instantly. It had been years, and he had blissfully forgotten. But no. The shadows lengthened. 

"So soon? Couldn't I have just a bit more time? There's still so much I have yet to do." He wondered, looking up at his ceiling. Looking for answers and reasons. 

But the man said naught, his body nothing but a three piece suit, and his head the skull of a deer. 

The figure was always there. In school, a glance out the window would find eyes locking on the familiar skull mask between pines. At home, in the smallest of shadows on the ground, the shine of polished black shoes. In his dreams, the ghostly fingers were sliding to his wrist, his pulse slowing to a bare whisper. 

Scott was pining over Allison again. They had a fight– Scott was so sure she was the one, the only person he had a future with. She thought it was too fast, too soon. She loved him; oh did she love him with her whole heart. But she knew they were only in high school. Only children in the grand scheme. There was so much yet to do and see. And they were from opposites sides in a hidden war that had been raging for centuries.

"Can't I help them? It would be a shame to leave them so alone." He asked one night, leaning back at his desk as he stared at the shadows. 

But the man said naught, his body nothing but a three piece suit, and his head the skull of a deer. 

He found his hunger leaving him, food tasting like ash in his mouth. Thirst had left him as well, the water quenching nothing, and leaving him feeling heavy and weighed down. Drowning from the inside. He forced himself to eat and drink when he actually had dinner with his father. But he found himself going for days without proper food. He was not starving though. Nor did his body cry for drink. 

Lydia and Jackson were on again, off again, like phases of the moon. She had gone far, had seen too much. So had Jackson. Both fought within their minds and out, with friends, family, each other, and themselves. He would listen in the night. His pained groans and her heaving sobs. 

"Can't I heal them first? It would be a shame to leave them so broken." He had asked, sitting on the couch with the television flashing and mute. 

But the man said naught, his body nothing but a three piece suit, and his head the skull of a deer. 

The nights and days had no effect on his energy. During the day he went about his business, blended into the normality of school, and afterwards into the normality of werewolves and the supernatural. But when night came he would not sleep. He could not sleep. His body did not wish to rest, nor did he want to. There was too much to do, and only so much time. His body ran on something that did not need recharging.

The betas were apart and far, split apart and each one nursing darkness and cracks in their hearts. Erica struggled with her identity, unsure of whom she really was. Unsure if she was anything but a mask on a mask on a mask. Boyd was lost not in person, but in place, always there yet never seen. So needed to be seen. So needed to be known and acknowledged. To be stable somewhere. Isaac struggled to find his mind. To find his lost days of easy smiling and restful slumber. So afraid of every sudden loud noise, the rough of his father's hands still fresh ghosts against his skin, long since healed of any cuts and bruises. He prayed for safety, even after his father passed. 

"Can't I find them? It would be a shame to let them drift so far." He sighed to the shadows, before spitting out the foam of toothpaste into his bathroom sink. The lights were not on, letting shadows consume the small room. 

But the man said naught, his body nothing but a three piece suit, and his head the skull of a deer. 

He found he did not heed time well anymore. Awake from dusk till dawn, dawn till dusk. His body was on automatic, piloting him while his mind was on other things. Walking, talking; like a perfect copy his body moved and interacted, while he huddled into his mind to plan and fret and dream and fear. 

Derek was never meant to be alpha. It showed. Not blatantly. Not to his pack. But to an outsider always watching, he could pick up on the moments of silence before and after a decision, the fear and then uncertainty that could only be read through the shifting of muscles and tenseness of eyebrows that seemed to be the most expressive part of the werewolf. He was so lost, even as the one with the most experience. He was so unsure of his leadership, though dared not voice it to the already fraying pack. Already broken pack. He fought with nightmares and demons that clawed at his back. Clawed at his heart and mind. They became like a shroud, forcing him to deny comfort and anything that could help him move on. To grow. 

"Can't I lead him? It seems a shame to let him stay so lost." He whispered into his hands, curled into an almost fetal position on his bed. The room was hidden from the moon and stars, from eyes and ears. The shadows quivered. 

But the man said naught, his body nothing but a three piece suit, and his head the skull of a deer. 

He found himself acting on these wishes, the man staying silent and watchful as he went about through the lives of those he cared for. Each day he put plans to motion, each night planning the next day and keeping track of everyone. The shadows seemed to know he was to finish first, before giving in to their touches and whispers. They receded when he walked, a path forming as he worked. 

Scott listened to his words when he spoke, taking his suggestions to heart about not rushing forward. How he had time, and he needed to give Allison hers. She listened to his whispers as he confided that Scott needed something normal in his life. An anchor to keep him rooted while everything he was forced into crashed and swirled around him. They both took it slow. They were happy.

He was content to bask in some of their warmth, for once not bothering to look into the shadows of trees as he sat in class. 

The world kept spinning beneath his feet, kept changing the position of the stars he found himself watching at night. Most times sitting alone on his roof, father gone or asleep. Never with him. Never with him. But he was not alone. He had company, in the form of a figure in the shadows. 

But he did not wear a suit. And his head was not a skull. 

The shadows didn't whisper on those nights. 

Lydia had become something like a lost lamb, curious and innocent, but like many religions said, she was offered and slain. She was sacrificed and used. But she did not falter. For she was not a lamb. She was not weak. He had helped her. He had helped shape her, peel away layers of deceit and doubt. Not as a lover. But as a brother. A keeper. A friend. A confidant. She smiled yesterday. She smiled at him and it was real and it made him smile back without the heavy feeling in his stomach. 

She was surer of herself. And her strength in turn made Jackson strong. He had caved in on himself, so confused and torn and lost and just so angry with the world. Angry at himself. The weight of his actions weighed down on him. Death weighed down on him. He had been a puppet. And for more than one puppeteer. He didn't know who to trust, who to turn to. Lydia had been his anchor, but when she fractured he was left to drift at the mercy of tides of emotions. But she was more now. She was embracing herself. No longer lost. And her light– that brilliant glow of something more– lead Jackson from the shadows. He helped. Jackson was a stubborn guy, so he had to be delicate. He comforted the boy with his presence, not shying from him though he snarled and sneered and laced his words with venom. The venom couldn't poison that which was already tainted. And soon, with his and Lydia's and even Danny's help, the venom lessened. The snarls quieted to growls of confusion. His sneers turned unsure. Insecure. They broke through his barbed armor, and helped him create an armor of family. A wall against the future. He and Lydia were not dating– not like they used to, when it was only about power and position– But they were closer than ever. They would be unstoppable together. He could see their strings, tying them together. 

He was glad they found themselves once more. When he entered his room, the window open and letting in the light of sunset, he found an apple sitting on the windowsill. He smiled. 

He ate it that night, watching the stars with the eyes staring at him from the nearby shadows. It was not the other; it's skull's outline visible in the shade of the house across the street. 

Those eyes did not question or assume. Neither did the shadows. 

Seasons were something he loved the most. The change, yet the assurance that it would leave and return. Like a well known schedule, one you just didn't think about anymore but went through the motions without a thought. It was autumn and the leaves were falling. Close. So close. He was so close and the world seemed to follow his schedule, keeping in time. Soon it would change. Soon it would be winter. 

He had found Erica on a street corner in the next town over. Still looking like a model in leather, hair done and make-up immaculate. He could see the dark circles under her foundation. The way her body was rigid and slack all at the same time. The way her viciousness seemed to lack, her sarcastic lilt falling limp on his ears. She was so lost. She had wanted to be wanted. With her epilepsy she felt alone. Afraid. People treated her like a glass figurine. Yet their actions put cracks in the glass they worked so hard to protect, cracking and falling apart behind their backs on the shelf. And then she was offered a chance to be wanted. To be put together, her pieces fixed. But becoming a werewolf did nothing. She was still broken. Still glass. Her parts were put back together, but the fit wasn't perfect. Her edges were sharp and cut deep. Even when she didn't want it to. But it was her life now. She wore her leather and her body like a skin suit. It was just another type of mask. Another role she played.

He visited her, bringing food and news of Beacon Hill. She led him to where she and Boyd were staying. Unsurprisingly it was an abandoned building. It took time, almost until the frost had covered grass and tree, and days were almost as cold as nights. It took time, but soon he talked them into returning, into rejoining the pack. He let Erica visit whenever she wanted, whenever she needed to vent or talk or just sit there and rub a hand on his arm to make sure he was still there. 

He had taken to saying hello to Boyd whenever he saw the man, and talking to him, even if it was something stupid or meaningless. Boyd smiled. He answered. He stayed. 

Derek had taken time to accept them back, but he did. They seemed to be wary of themselves and each other, but soon the pack was together again. Isaac was healed by that. He had his rag tag family back together. No longer did he dream of shouts or freezers or bloody fingers. Now he dreamt of warmth. He dreamt of home. He slept in a pile with the other Betas, covering each other with hands and legs and bodies. Derek always nearby. It was like watching stop motion animation, or a flip book. Night after night, the betas’ inching closer and closer, until Derek was part of the pile as well. Sleeping werewolves weren't difficult to photograph. 

He kept the picture on his desk, next to the one of Allison and Scott covered in snow and laughing, and the woman with warm eyes and opened arms, sunflowers and sunshine around her. 

He slept that night, not bothering to watch the stars as they passed or the eyes in the shadows of his window.

It troubled him. It wiggled in the back of his mind as he stood there, staring into the mirror. He did not see himself. He saw the dark, the cloth covered hand held out to him. The tailored sleeve and golden cuff link bleeding into the black. The hand was tempting. Take it, his mind would whisper. Take it. But he couldn't. He was still needed. He was still with purpose. Soon, he would whisper. Soon he would join the man, but that day was not today. He was still with purpose. 

Derek seemed like he was above it all, in the beginning at least. He would use him when it was convenient then disappear until he needed him once again. But he could tell. He could see how Derek was just a step from the edge, always just a step. A nudge from Kate. A nudge from Peter. A push from Gerard and Matt. A shove from Erica and Boyd. But he never took that step. That was how he could tell Derek could do it. Could brave it out and make something out of him. But he was more delicate then anyone could imagine. Than anyone would admit. So lost, torn and broken by his past and present, no doubt fearing his future. 

It took long enough just to be thought of as a person Derek could come to for anything. A lot of running and yelling. A lot of blood and sweat. But his reward was great. Derek came to– not trust, the word still gave the man an acrid taste on his tongue– readily come to him for research or even on a rare chance... His opinion. He seemed pleased when he spoke his mind. Told him the truth. He wasn't bound to him like the betas, or unable to be unbiased like others due to relations. He was just there. Knowing but not assuming. Seeing but not judging. 

And soon he found Derek would open up to him. Like a clam, opening slightly when he wasn't aware of danger or was too preoccupied with other thoughts to guard his tongue and soul. He relished those moments. He didn't lash or berate. He would listen, stilling his own words to let Derek say what he needed. What he wanted. The werewolf was no good with words, wasn't able to articulate his every feeling the way he wanted to. He spoke with action, not words. But sometimes actions were not enough. And he had to speak. 

He helped with those moments. He left his window unlocked more often than not those days, letting the brooding man inside to help him articulate and plan, later using the same words on others. They would listen. Derek would look at him. He would smile in return. Soon Derek could do it without him, giving the orders and handing out plans and thoughts as easily as anyone. He learned to let them in. He learned to relax around them. He learned not to expect a dagger in the back from them if he looked away. Derek... Learned to trust. 

He didn't understand why it hurt to see them so happy. 

Except he did. 

The man was in the shadows, keeping in step as he walked down the street. Neither looking at each other. But still very much there. Very much aware. 

He locked the window that night. He slept with his back to the blinds and his eyes shut tight. 

Winter came and went once more by the time he realized he had done everything he wished to fix. Scott was smiling and happy, Allison cheerful and supportive. They were in love and no one was shooting or clawing at their feet. They were no longer alone. They had each other and the pack. 

Lydia was strong and proud, embracing both her beauty and brain. Jackson by her side and at peace with who he was. With what he was and what was in his heart. They were no longer broken, healed and filling in each other's cracks. 

Erica had found peace with herself, no longer playing a part but being herself. She no longer scowled at everyone, no longer going out of her way to harm or hurt. Boyd was visible, there for his pack and there for his family. He was no longer invisible, everyone talking with him or greeting him if they saw him. Isaac was happy, not jumping at every loud noise. He didn't dream of his father anymore. They were no longer lost, brought back to each other and everyone else. Bonded and close.

Derek had grown into something closer to a leader. A proper alpha. He no longer used violence for everything. He learned that action did speak louder than words, but sometimes he needed to quiet himself, to say what he meant instead of making people try to understand. He had the respect and warmth of his pack, none no longer doubting him. He had a new family, and one he would protect without a doubt. And would protect him without a second thought in return.

It was early one night when he decided to go for a walk. It was raining and cold, slush at his ankles. But he kept walking. Out the back of his house and over the fence, following the trail of shadows that guided with hands as cold as ice. They were gentle though. So gentle. The trees were bare and offered little protection from the darkened sky above, each drop of rain against his skin like a freezing caress, slipping down his neck and face. He followed the shadows, leading him deeper and deeper into the darkness. Away from his home and friends. Away from sounds and lights. Away from noise.

He entered the grove, so much like a stage, him being the final act in this play. He stood, staring. Watching. Waiting. The rain stopped. From the shadows in front of him, the judge of his performance appeared. Dry and tall, looming in the dark and watching him without eyes. Tasting his inner most thoughts and wanting more. Wanting him. He had been patiently waiting. Years of his life as he tried to fix his father. And the year or so he tried to fix the group he became so fond of. So attached to. The man had watched and waited, biding his time. He would wait indefinitely. Everyone came to him eventually.

And here he was.

He took a step forward, seeing the shadows glide across the ground towards him as the man extended his hand. It was time. Wasn't it? Another step, and then a crunch behind him. He froze. Turning, brown met red, glowing from the other side of the clearing. Watching him. Oh. The eyes emerged into the light of the stage, all sharp angles and dark clothes. Derek. What was he doing here? He glanced back at the shadows, the gloved hand still outstretched. He could hear the growl of confusion. Annoyance? Possibly that as well. Why was he here? Why? The eyes bled from red to green, softening into something akin to concern. Impossible. Concern? The shadows were playing with his features. He had to be misreading. There was nothing to be concerned about. He did what he wanted to do. He fixed and healed. And now he was without that which needed to be fixed. To heal. He could join the others. His mother. Smiles and warmth. Laughter and songs. Home. No more pain. No more fear of leaving something unfinished. That fear had lead him to stray from the shadows. He didn't want anyone to fall without him.

Derek took another step, then another, drawing closer to him. And it seemed for every step he took, the shadows flinched back. He watched as the hand retreated, suit and skull watching as the creature of the night stopped feet from his prey. From him. The werewolf was stiff, muscles and jaw tight. He said nothing though. His eyes did the talking. Derek was questioning and wondering and furious and relieved all in the same depths of emerald. He had to look away. Towards the shadows. The man. He couldn't answer. Couldn't respond.

Then... warmth. Looking down, he spotted Derek's hand, encompassing his wrist and bleeding heat into his arm. Oh... He was shivering. He had forgotten. Or ignored it. Maybe a cocktail of that and more. Derek held his arm, staring at his wrist and then back up at him. He couldn't look away from those eyes. But he could feel the hand slipping down to his own, fingers locking with his and spreading even more warmth.

He gripped back without thinking.

"Stiles," The name was soft, gruff and unsure as it slipped into the silent void, shattering the revelry of the forest. Crickets chirped. Car engines roared in the distance. He could hear creatures shifting through the slush and dead underbrush. He could hear his own breath and Derek's, the clouds of steam dissipating before him and around their heads. He gripped even tighter. Could feel something tightening in his throat as he tried to speak. But he couldn't. He couldn't. He looked from the eyes to their hands, watching his hand shake from the sudden rush of feeling. It was cold. He was hungry. He didn't want to be out here. He wanted to be with his father. Joke with Scott and make faces at him and Allison when they got too romantic. He wanted to trade insults with Jackson and listen to Lydia's latest rant on what was considered hip. He wanted to snuggle with Boyd and Isaac and Erica while they watched a Disney movie and ate tons of junk food. He wanted to be able to listen and help Derek when the man had no one else to go to. He wanted... He wanted...

He wanted to stay here. He wanted to stay.

"Let me fix you."

He leaned into the warmth. He leaned into Derek and shut his eyes, letting himself be enveloped by arms that he knew wouldn't let him fall. Wouldn't let him crack and crumble on the inside. Would make him remember to eat and drink and sleep and dream and _feel_. Arms he knew belonged to the man he put back together from ashes and anger. He heard muffled words against his shoulder, but couldn't bother to understand. But he would. He would learn to understand. Learn to stay and ignore the shadows that followed.

Longer. He was going to stay here longer. He felt the pull of the hand, followed back into the now bright forest, lead by warmth. And as he left that stage, the curtain falling at the finale, he felt it. He felt the smiles and warmth. He felt the laughter and songs. He felt the caress of lightly tanned skin and smelled sunflowers. Someday. Someday he would be able to see her again. But he was still needed. Wanted. He still needed to be fixed. He left the clearing, knowing the man could tell his decision. Could hear the way his mind and heart grew stronger than the pull of the shadows. Could understand his choice.

But he didn't wait to listen to see if the man said anything. Because he was just a three piece suit. And deer skulls don't talk.

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
